


Tether Me

by Ser_Thirst_A_Lot



Series: 🍷 (Handers-centric) DA Drunk Writing Circle ⭕️ [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Garrett Hawke Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Dragon Age II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29387538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ser_Thirst_A_Lot/pseuds/Ser_Thirst_A_Lot
Summary: "I wish the world wasn't like this," Hawke could barely manage a little more than a whisper yet found it impossible to stop, so easy it always was to bear his heart under Justice's gaze. Hawke nuzzles his palm, the spirit's touch a beacon, a focal point of calm and sure determination, a searing light of hope in this blighted reality. "I wish it were easy to change. I wish I'd known to do something different.""We all do, love," Anders' voice broke through, as did his eyes, even as the lightning patterns of light on his body remained. "But we can't change the past. We can only hope to work to build a better future."Hawke smiled. A broken thing, probably. "You always make it sound so easy.""It isn't. It never is." Anders caressed his face with a sad little smile of his own, and in absence of the glow in his eyes, Hawke noticed the trails of dried tears on his cheeks. "But whatever the pain—youneverhave to bear it alone."
Relationships: Anders/Justice (Dragon Age), Anders/Male Hawke, Anders/Male Hawke/Justice (Dragon Age)
Series: 🍷 (Handers-centric) DA Drunk Writing Circle ⭕️ [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158695
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17





	Tether Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackstarr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackstarr/gifts).



> Listen............... Justhanders is everything..................
> 
> 🎶 The world of Dragon Age is intrinsically connected to music. The Song of lyrium and the broken Song of its red counterpart, the Song of the Old Gods and the maddening music of the Calling, the Chant of Light, and the times of long past when 'everything sang the same.' To honor that, each of my DA fics will be accompanied by a soundtrack. For this one, it's **Tether Me** by **Galleaux**

* * *

It was maddening. Numbing. Suffocating.

Hawke tried for a deep breath—and failed, miserably, lungs constricting under invisible pressure as he surveyed the barren space around the deathly tower looming before him.

The place smelled of death. There was no roundabout way to say it. It just did.

Not the putrid smell of decaying bodies or the metallic tang of drying blood. No reek of burnt flesh or ash strewn about the ground, a surefire tell of battle magic.

Hawke almost wished it was. No one must have even made it outside when the templars struck.

Another incomplete breath, and his lungs were chock-full of it—the intangible yet crushing... sensation, Hawke supposed, of the Veil shredded to pieces from too many severed lives. A cold, empty absence that filled Hawke's nostrils somehow with the sickening non-scent and made him shiver from the sheer wrongness of it.

Empty. Barren. Dead.

A circular clearing surrounding the now empty tower once known as the Dairsmuid Circle, and now but a beacon for demons to prey upon the thinness of the Veil, tainting the place with something arguably worse than the blight. Despair. Rage. Hopelessness. Dashed hopes and crumpled happiness.

Injustice.

He remembered Justice flaring bright, his rage rippling through the air as they walked upon the sight. Anders staring at the barren land in horror—his first time, too, witnessing the aftermath of a total annulment. It was the one massive assault against their kind they couldn't stop in time, even as their journey had led them to Rivain where they'd meant to incite yet another revolt. To cure the Tranquil of the Circle as Justice had learned to do, to fight and lead as many survivors as they could to one of their temporary camps, full of mages from all over Thedas united in tightly-knit circles of their own making, hunted yet free to choose a path of battle instead of meek obedience. Free to choose risk instead of tranquil stability.

And yet—the Chantry had acted as efficiently as it never did when matters concerned the wellbeing of the poor, the wronged, and the weak—and the templar force was mercilessly quick to massacre the entire Tower in an afternoon.

A place of refuge, one of the—if not _the only_ —Circle that allowed its denizens those precious few freedoms that made imprisonment worth bearing. Gone, in under a day. Annulled, their right to life, because they dared to want to live as all men did.

He shivered once more, arms instinctively hugging himself against a non-existent wind. Perhaps these were the souls of all the dead, still lingering, still hovering above the world of the living, trying to cling to it, desperate, and brushing against him with ghostly touches.

He’s always been sensitive to the Fade. A blessing for one growing up with the gift of magic. A curse at times like these.

Two fucking days. _Two_ measly days sooner, and perhaps they could have changed _some_ thing.

Hawke didn't know if his eyes were dampening with tears or if it was beginning to rain. Regardless, his next breath was a shuddering, pathetic thing, and he struggled to regain his composure, loath to allow Anders to see him like this. He was _supposed_ to join him to scout the area for possible trails of survivors, _supposed_ to be by his side, strong, supportive, and _there_ for him, but Hawke suspected that was yet another one of his failures to be added to the growing list.

Deep breath—

"You are distressed."

 _Fuck._ Hawke gritted his teeth against the onslaught of shame.

"It's nothing, Justice," Hawke said, though he supposes with how in tune Anders and Justice are nowadays, his lie will be as transparent as glass.

Just as suddenly as it had settled, the cold sheen assailing Hawke's body disappeared, replaced by a burning point of crackling _fire_ on his shoulder where Justice lay his hand. Hawke turned his head to face him. It was strange, still, seeing distinct expressions on Justice's face, with how he had struggled with showing human emotion for years. Yet here he stood, expression twisted by a deep frown of concern. Lips curled downwards. One drawn between his teeth—mirroring Anders' same habit perfectly.

"It isn't _nothing_ ," Justice insisted, voice seeming to resonate through Hawke's entire being. Justice's voice—the one part of him that was still wholly inhuman—the very sound of it seeming to draw the dream realm closer, just like the light that shone through Anders' veins hummed with the energy of the Fade itself.

Hawke sighed. Shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to lie, I just—" He stopped himself short lest his voice broke as he tried to explain it. A pain so great it was impossible to put into words. Justice's hand rose to brush against his face. "I wish things were different, Justice."

"I know." Justice rubbed away the stray tears, leaning in to kiss them away one by one. The warmth of his lips was comforting. Safe. Precious. "They will be," he promised, and Hawke almost believed him.

"I wish the world wasn't like this," Hawke could barely manage a little more than a whisper yet found it impossible to stop, so easy it always was to bear his heart under Justice's gaze. Hawke nuzzles his palm, the spirit's touch a beacon, a focal point of calm and sure determination, a searing light of hope in this blighted reality. "I wish it were easy to change. I wish I'd known to do something different."

"We all do, love," Anders' voice broke through, as did his eyes, even as the lightning patterns of light on his body remained. "But we can't change the past. We can only hope to work to build a better future."

Hawke smiled. A broken thing, probably. "You always make it sound so easy."

"It isn't. It never is." Anders caressed his face with a sad little smile of his own, and in absence of the glow in his eyes, Hawke noticed the trails of dried tears on his cheeks. "But whatever the pain—you _never_ have to bear it alone."

Anders leaned in to kiss him, a firm press of lips followed by an even tighter embrace. A promise. A reassurance. Another searing point of connection tethering him to the one thing in this twisted reality that was truly good. Anders, Justice, the sheer force of the love they have given him—it all still felt like a dream masterfully crafted by Desire.

"This isn't a dream," Anders and Justice were quick to assure him, the vibration of their voices tickling his lips. Hawke huffed out a laugh. He kept forgetting Justice's latest discovery—that his _spirity_ touches, as Hawke insisted on calling them, allowed him to sense a part of Hawke's own thoughts.

Hawke focused his mind wholly on the love he felt for them, gazing into the half-glinting eyes before him and seeing— _feeling_ the same reflected back at him. "Then I must be the luckiest man in all of Thedas."

"No." They smiled in unison—a radiant, beautiful smile Hawke wished he never had to look away from. " _We_ are."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the read! Kudos and comments massively appreciated💙💙💙
> 
> Find me proudly defending the Anders Simping Collective on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ser_arts_a_lot) and [tumblr](https://ser-thirst-a-lot.tumblr.com/) (feel free to [shoot DA prompts](https://ser-thirst-a-lot.tumblr.com/prompt-away) my way anytime!)


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